


The First and The Last Jon and Sansa

by kittykatknits



Series: 1001 Northern Nights [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1001 Arabian Nights AU, Alternate Universe - Canon, Dragon Ride, Early angst, Enemies to Lovers, Epilogue, F/M, Fluff, HEA, Jon's status is known, R plus L equals J, Smut, a lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 02:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: Jon proves the stories aren't lies. Sansa tells her final tale, one about a little girl. But, it's up to Jon to finish it, showing that every couple can get their own happily ever after.  Ever increasing amounts of fluff and an epilogue.___This is the fourth and fifth parts to a five part series.





	1. The First Jon and Sansa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/gifts).



> For vivi - Thank you for helping me not to give up on this. I would have if it was not for you.

 

Sansa picked up the fire frost from her dressing table to stroke the silken petals. She would think it was the same one Jon took from the shores of Long Lake two days past, except this was the third she’d discovered. She wondered where he found them, there were none in the glass gardens or near Winterfell. Sansa also wondered what Jon meant by giving them to her, they were not blue roses and he did not love her. Still, there was a message to be had, even if it was only to remind her of their time together.

She was tempted to leave the flower where it was found but something changed her mind. Sansa kept it, twirling the stem between her fingers, as she left her rooms.

“Will you join me?” Jon stepped from one of the many small courtyards that littered the grounds of Winterfell.

Sansa started, she had not seen or heard him approach. Jon had a talent for appearing this way. “I did not see you.” She meant it as a statement of surprise but his expression told her it sounded closer to an accusation.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

She felt guilty, even as she told herself not too. “Where do you want to go?” She hoped it did not involve a dragon this time.

“Not far. There is something I want to show you.” He tentatively offered his arm, probably wondering if she would accept.

She did. “And where would you be taking me, ser?”

“Are you teasing me?”

“No. No teasing was meant.” Sansa had always thought it romantic when a knight offered his arm as Jon had just done. Or, she had once.

He led her to the stone steps of the outer walls until they stood together on the ramparts. The wind was much fiercer, whipping her hair about. Sansa had not foreseen a reason to braid it that morning.

“Look below.” Jon indicated the camp beneath the walls, a mass of red and black tents. The Targaryen sigil flew from all of them.

Sansa didn’t particularly want to look. “Your army, yes.”

“Look closer.” She did, noticing the tents being dismantled for the first time. “They will leave in the morning to head south.”

Sansa mouth fell open. For once, she was speechless. “Heading south,” she repeated, more for herself than him. Jon’s army helped keep him safe.

“I have something else for you.” He undid his sword belt, handing it and his sword, still in its pommel, over to her. “”Do what you want with it.”

He’d gone mad. There was no other explanation she could think of. “It belongs to you.”

Jon smiled sadly. “No longer.”

Sansa stared down at the sword he’d draped across her arms. She noted the pommel, a white wolf’s head. She still held the fire frost too. “Why did you give me the flowers?”

A queer expression flashed across his face. “May I touch your hair?”

“Yes.” She did not know why she agreed.

He wrapped the strands around one fist, stroking them with his thumb. “I never had much care for the color red. It’s the color….” He trailed off, not finishing but Sansa did not need him too. Red was the color of dragons on the Targaryen sigil. “Red is the color of your heart tree and the flowers you picked. Your hair too. I’ve found my opinion has recently changed. It may just be my favorite.” Jon released her hair. He smiled again, resigned. “I will see you at supper tonight.”

Sansa watched as he stepped away, not able to understand what happened. “Jon?” He paused, turning to face her. “There is court this afternoon.” It was a simple thing compared to King’s Landing. Still, Winterfell held court, to listen to the people of the winter town or anywhere sworn to House Stark. It was mostly tedium, small gripes and disputes.  

“You can see to it.” He left her.

She called his name but the wind stole her words away. Jon did not hear. Sansa stood alone for some time after. She wondered if she should take his sword to the armory so some use could be made of it or maybe hide it away in one of her chests. It struck her then, she knew where it belonged. Sansa left the wall behind to continue on with her day.

As Jon promised, she did not see him again until supper that night. He puzzled her. Jon was quiet but she could not sense anger or misery. He did not glower at the people sharing the hall. He was alone, she realized, apart from the activity around them. Sansa ached. She told herself Jon did not belong in Winterfell. “What story would you like tonight?”

She’d pleased him. He smiled hopefully. “If you’re willing, I’d like a story about my mother.”

Sansa made sure to hide any hint of surprise. Jon had not mentioned his mother since the first day they met. She knew almost nothing of Lyanna Stark, her father had spoken of her so little. She wondered what sort of mother Jon would have wanted, she could create a story for him. “I would be glad to tell you of your mother.” Her ache grew.

“I hoped we could talk of other things too. Books or the history of Dorne, or even Winterfell gossip if you liked.”

He made her think of Jeyne, the friend she’d lost. “I once stole half a strawberry pie from the kitchens to share with a friend. We ate it, gossiping together for hours.”

“I’ll have pie waiting for you.”

She wondered if she should check his brow for a fever or pinch herself awake. “I would like that.” They were both mad, she decided. Sansa could see no other explanation.

Jon was not at breakfast the next morning. She did not worry over it, he missed the morning meal sometimes and could usually be found in the training yard. He was gaining the respect of the castle guard, she’d noticed.

However, Jon was not in the yard nor did he appear for the mid-day meal. Surreptitiously, Sansa prowled through the castle, curious to see where he could have hidden away but she did not find him. More than once, she considered asking a servant or the maester if he’d left a message but decided against it. She did not want it known that Jon shared so little with her. After supper, she made a visit to his chambers, curious. They were empty, as she expected they would be.

Sansa wandered through his solar, not sure of what she looked for. He had no personal items, she realized. No gifts from family or keepsakes. She found his clothes in his bedchamber, mostly plain wool in brown or black. Sansa had noticed it before, none of his clothing boasted a House sigil. His cloak was gone though. Jon had left, to go to the winter town or somewhere else, she did not know. He’d not thought to tell her.

She did not see him until the next afternoon. He was in the yard, sparring with two of the guards, all of them with blunted swords. Sansa remembered the one time they danced together, none of the discomfort he’d shown then was on display now. He was fast, all his movements smooth and graceful. Jon moved as if he knew what his opponents would do before they did. His reputation was well-earned, she thought, not for the first time.

Jon fought on, his focus solely on the two men he sparred with. He’d made no notice of her, standing some distance away. It did not matter, she told herself, there was nothing they needed to speak of. She backed up a few paces and left, deciding she needed to visit the library.

“Sansa. Can I speak with you?” A hand landed on her shoulder, resting passively. Jon would have needed to run to catch her.

“Of course.”

“Will you walk with me?” Jon’s hair was mussed, the strands along his brow and by his ears damp. His skin glistened.

“Where would you like to go?” He did not offer his arm this time as they strolled through the smaller yards littered through the castle grounds.

“I took your advice.”

“What advice would that be?” Sansa could not recall offering any.

Jon led her to one of the small alcoves by the library, granting them a small measure of privacy. He went to remove the clasp of his cloak to place it on the stone bench for Sansa before realizing he did not wear a cloak and there was no bench. He should have taken her to the heart tree.

“You said I didn’t know the north so I went to see it. The barrowlands are….” Not beautiful on the surface but there was a certain sense he’d been left with. “They reminded me the first men still rule here in the north, no matter who sits the Iron Throne.”

“You left to visit the barrowlands?”

“Aye, it was you that gave me the idea.” He’d woken that morning to ride his dragon and Sansa’s words telling Jon he did not know the north had come to him. “After that, I rode to Sea Dragon Point and Bear Island. It occurred to me-”

“You left without a word,” she snapped. Sansa grabbed her skirt, pulling it into her fist, before releasing the cloth to smooth the wrinkles away. “Not a single word.”

“I should have done so, you’re right,” Jon apologized. It didn’t occur to him anyone would care. “Next time, I will tell you, if you don’t want to join me, that is.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t know if Sansa was thanking him for the apology or the offer to join him. He was afraid to ask. “I hoped you enjoyed your time away.” She turned away to leave him.

“Wait, Sansa,” he pleaded. “I want to tell you something.” She did as he requested but did not respond otherwise. “Do you remember what you told me of the Ironborn?”

“A plague along our coasts, yes.”

“No more, at least as long as I’m here. If a raven should arrive, I can reach our coasts within hours, faster than any vessel. Also, you mentioned the need to meet the northern clans in person, I’d like to take you.”

“Jon…..”

“I spent some time in the wolfs wood but that did not go so well.” He’d spied animal tracks, nothing else.

Sansa peered up at him, listening intently. Her expression was placid, but, Jon realized with shock, her mask was gone. She’d not worn it during their entire conversation. “Were you attacked by a boar?”

Briefly, he wondered if she’d made a jape before realizing the question was a sincere one. “You aren’t one for hunting are you?” Her wrinkled nose was answer enough. “No boar. I tried my warging skills but had no luck,” he admitted, shame-faced.

“I am sorry, Jon truly,” she said. Her sympathy was genuine. Jon was afraid to hope. “I wish I could help you.”

“No, the opposite, I want to help you.”

Sansa grew very still, so still he did not think she drew breath. “I’m not a warg, Jon.”

“Yes, you are. If all our family is, if I am, then so are you. I have a friend studying at the citadel. He’s the smartest person I’ve ever met and if anyone can help us, it’s him.”

“I’m not a warg,” she repeated. Sansa pursed her lips before frowning. She gazed past his shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. “Pardon me, I need to visit the kitchens.” She fled away from him, almost running.

Jon called her name but she did not respond. “What did I say?” He was at a loss. He knew she would not want a blue rose from him. Ever since their day at Long Lake, he’d been puzzling over a gift for her, something she would not refuse. Something that would be truly meaningful for them both. He’d hoped to please to her.

Defeated, Jon left to return to the yard. He spent the remainder of the day sparring, until his muscles ached and his body grew sore. The distraction worked, at least until the sky began to darken.

They sat together at supper in the hall, the lord and lady at the head table. Jon stayed silent, still worrying over their earlier exchange.

“Did you mean it?” It was the first she’d spoken to him.

“Yes.” Whatever she referred to, Jon was sure he meant it.

“Who is your friend?”

“Sam. You would like him, I think. If there is some piece of knowledge to be found at the Citadel, he will find it for us. I promise.”

“That is very kind of you.” He studied Sansa, she was a mix of hope and fear.

“It’s not kindness.” Jon wondered how to explain, he didn’t want to send her fleeing again. “It’s for you. Besides, the only other way I could think of was to take you north of the wall on Viserion but I don’t think the wildlings would prove particularly hospitable. Not for a Stark riding a dragon at least. They’d probably flee in fear. Either that or plan their next invasion.”

“Two Starks on a dragon.” She was giggling. He’d made her laugh. Jon’s heart thumped. “Maybe we should both go north on Viserion. I’d wager we won’t have another invasion for at least ten generations or so.”

“Aye, maybe we should.” Her mask was still gone, he’d not spied it once. Sansa’s face was truly open for him. She took a sip of her wine, her lips pressing against the cup. He’d noticed her beauty from his very first glimpse. Now though, Jon thought her captivating. He wondered if she’d ever smile for him. “You’re prettier than a weirwood leaf.”

Sansa set her cup on the table but said nothing. He began to worry he’d somehow offended her. Then she smiled. Her smile was not false or dutiful. It was genuine. “Thank you.”

He’d pleased her. “I meant it.” His smile matched hers. “Will you come tonight?”

“I have a new story. Would you like to know how the Mormonts came to Bear Island?” He did want to know.

Two nights later, they sat in his solar by the hearth, as they did every night. There was an ease between them now. Jon would not call it the intimacy that lay between lovers. It was more than mere friendship though, it was something else, it was possibility.

“We have court again in two more days.”

“Aye. I will not be available.” It was two days, he could find another task that desperately needed to be done by then. Sansa snorted. She didn’t believe him. “The next one, I will come to that.” Sansa did not believe that either.

“I hope to never again visit King’s Landing.” Jon would swear she shuddered at some memory or other. “Joffrey. Do you know who that is? For him, there was only one voice that mattered. His. Do your brother or aunt hold court? Do they allow their people to speak?”

Jon had avoided the throne room as much as he could. The king and queen married to avoid another Dance. There was no love between them. “They bicker and disagree. They don’t allow the other to speak.”

“My father used to repeat our house words often. It was a warning and a reminder, I suppose. Do you know what he used to tell his children?” Jon recognized her voice. He loved the sweet sound of it when she gave him another story.

He put his feet up on a nearby footstool and slumped further into his chair, feeling content. “Will you tell me?”

My father always said the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. He told it to his children and our grandfather told it to him. I think my father told it to my sister and I most of all.” Sansa made a sound, it was half a laugh and half a sigh. Another memory had taken her, he knew. “Arya and I did not understand each other so we fought, like children do. She was not the sister I wanted and she blamed me. Sometimes, the blame was warranted and other times, not so much. If she were here now, if Arya was with us here in Winterfell...well, I cannot say all would be well between us. I can say I would try, more than I ever did when we were younger.”

Jon wished he’d known Arya Stark. The way Sansa spoke of her younger sister, she was someone Jon would have counted a friend. His wife’s memories told him Arya was different from her family, or at least felt as if she was. Jon understood that. “I wish I’d known her.”

“I wish that too. Once, not so long ago, there was another Jon and Sansa, both Starks. Did you know that?” He did not. The idea of it thrilled him. “Sansa was Lord Stark’s only child and his heir. She was loved by the people of the north, considered a great beauty and very wise for a woman. One day, her father, the father she loved so dearly, died. She grieved for Lord Stark but the north needed her. So, Sansa ruled as the Lady of Winterfell and readied herself to receive homage from all her bannermen. Only, Sansa did not consider Jon Stark.”

He’d never heard this tale before, he wondered why. “Were they cousins?”

“No, he was her uncle. Jon Stark was a great warrior, fearless in battle and respected by men anywhere. You see, Lord Stark, in all his plans, did not consider one thing.”

“What did he forget?”

“The north has never been ruled by a woman, always a king and always a lord. Jon Stark knew this so he sent ravens to every House declaring himself Lord and the Stark in Winterfell. In her rage, Sansa resolved to fight him in open battle if needed. Winterfell was hers by rights, it was her father’s dying wish. She would never yield, no matter the cost. Every House was forced to take a side; Umber, Bolton, Forrester, Marsh, Tallhart, Locke, Wull, and more. Some declared themselves for the grey wolf of the Stark sigil, vowing to honor the last Lord Stark. Others, they chose the white and Jon Stark. Every lord, from Karhold so far north all the way to Stoney Shores, was made to choose. Some lords, weary of battle, urged the two Starks to make peace but they did not. War was inevitable. Banners were called and siege engines built. Archers, pikemen, and men at arms, all readied to march. Do you know what happened next?”

He did not. This story was new. “War, most like.” Gray and white, a Dance. Jon shuddered to think of it.

“Jon and Sansa remembered.”

“What did they remember?” Jon knew.

“The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.” They spoke over each other, their voices blending together.

“Yes, exactly,” she hummed. “There were no battles or war. No men died for one side or the other. Instead, Jon and Sansa married and ruled together. She bore two children and the Stark line continues to this day. In the end, they remembered. They were wolves, a pack. Not enemies.”

“Were they in love?” He always asked her this question and Jon did not know why. It was a happier ending, he supposed.

Sansa considered. “I don’t know. It makes for a better story, doesn’t it? Still, not all matches are love matches.” She clasped her hands together before pulling absently at the skirts of her dress. Jon wished he knew her thoughts.

“Thank you for sharing.” His chair felt uncomfortable, stiff and overly small. “Will you tell me another story tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” she agreed. Sansa’s tone made it seem she looked forward to it. He hoped.

Soon, as she always did after one of her tales, Sansa rose to leave him. Jon copied her movements, wanting to say something to her, only he did not know what. She smiled sweetly, beautifully. “I desperately want to kiss you.”

Sansa was quiet, turning her eyes away, suddenly fascinated with the stone floor they stood upon. Jon began to worry, wondering if a mere apology would suffice.

“Alright,” she said shyly.

Jon stepped closer to her. He wondered what to do, if he should pull her close or rest his hands on her shoulders. Sansa did nothing. She was waiting to follow his lead, Jon realized. He put one hand on her cheek so his thumb stroked the barest edge of her top lip. They’d never been so intimate. He leaned down and kissed her. Her lips felt soft against him.

Not wanting to press further, Jon broke away to bid her a good night. Sansa’s lids were closed and her lips were parted the barest amount. She opened her eyes but said nothing. Jon did not recognize her expression but he knew he loved it.

“I can do better,” he rasped.

He moved one hand up her cheek to settle in the loose strands of her hair while the other landed on her waist to pull them closer. Sansa’s breath hitched and the sound stirred him. Jon covered her lips with his own. This kiss was not the one of their wedding day or the one he’d just given her. It was desperate and gentle. It frightened him. It comforted him. Jon loved their kiss.

He felt rather than heard Sansa’s moan so he pulled back. Her cheeks and neck were flushed and her eyes were half-lidded. Jon supposed he looked much the same. He didn’t know if he should thank her or apologize. “You should know, I’ll probably ask to kiss you again soon.”

“All right,” she breathed. Her expression did not change.

Reluctantly, Jon bid her good night. As he prepared for bed, the same thought drummed in his head, over and over. He’d asked Sansa for a kiss and she said yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Sansa told was a total riff on Jonnel and Sansa Stark, yeah.


	2. Every Story Has an End

“Am I warm enough?” 

“Aye, you’re suitable.” Sansa wore a heavy wool gown and fur cloak. All gray, he noted. She often wore gray. “If you get cold, I’ll have her burn a tree for you.”

“You will most certainly not,” she admonished.

Jon chuckled. “Let’s go.” He helped Sansa up, until she was safely ensconced between his legs on Viserion’s back. “If you want to sleep, lean against me. I won’t let you fall.” Their journey would start in the early morning gloom. Much of their day was travel and Jon meant for them to be back in Winterfell before it ended, in time for supper.

“I don’t think I could, even with this early hour.” Sansa did relax against him though. She didn’t speak from fear or alarm, but excitement. This would be the fourth time they’d ridden together. He wagered she was coming to enjoy it as much as he did.

He moved her braid so it lay down her back, between the two of them. “Shall we go?” They did, flying south, not stopping until the western coastline appeared. 

Sansa leisurely twirled in a circle, looking at the surrounding land and ocean. “A bay. The Blazewater?” Jon had wondered how long it would take her to guess. Less than a minute.

“Aye, come on.” The bay had struck him the one time he flew over it. The southern portion was a mix of forest and marsh. The north was a wild place, dunes and meadows that faded to a mess of streams and forest land. The cape could be glimpsed, not so far away.

Jon led her towards the beach, helping her over the larger rocks and boulders. He’d not thought to tell her to wear sturdier shoes. The shoreline was a mix of pebbled beach and craggy rocks. The water would crash against the larger ones, spraying white foam and gray ocean into the air. The occasional drop reached the two of them. The air tasted like salt. 

Their talk was mostly idle chatter but Jon did not care about the upcoming marriage between a smith’s apprentice and tailor’s daughter. It was their own marriage that concerned him. “I have something for you.” Silently, he handed over a scroll to Sansa. 

_ Come get me. I’m not getting on another ship. Also, kittens are much sweeter than wolves. Have you tried with a kitten? - Sam _

“He can help then,” she said thinly. Sansa’s hands shook when she returned the scoll.

“Looks like, yes. I’ll be gone a few days. Three of us on her, that would be too much.”

“When do you leave?”

“When do you want me to go?” Jon winced at the question. It implied more than he meant. 

“You brought me here to show me this?” She didn’t answer his question. He didn’t know what to make of her tone either, it wasn’t anger. Or disappointment.

“One reason. Not all.” He crouched down, picking up some of the larger pebbles to throw into the water. 

“I’d like to know your other reasons.”

Jon tensed. It was one thing to consider a plan. It was quite another to be in the middle of it. Still, he was no craven. He threw a small pebble. “I wanted to show you this.” He indicated the coast line and surrounding water. “It reminds me of you.”

“I remind you of gray rocks and salt water. Should I be insulted?” She quietly laughed, teasing him. Underneath, he heard insecurity in her voice though. Sansa was as unsure as he was.

“You’re beautiful but you get told that often, I know. You’re not merely pretty, Sansa. You’re stunning. Radiant even. If I’m honest, that was all I noticed about you at first. I noticed your words next. They intimidated me and made me angry too. Then I learned the truth about you.”

“What truth did you learn?” she asked tightly. Her arms wrapped around her waist. 

“This bay lacks the beauty of the gardens to be found in the Reach. But, there is a raw strength to be found here. It’s unyielding and constant. It reminds me of you. I brought you here so you’d know I don’t think of you as the key to the north. I brought you here for this.” He waited for some sort of an answer.

“Jon-“

He changed his mind. “Don’t say anything,” he said, quickly interrupting her. “You don’t need too. That’s not why I asked you to come with. I wanted you to know how I felt, that’s all.” He crouched down to pick up a few more pebbles, handing the largest over to Sansa.

She threw it into the water. “Snowball fights as a child,” she said, noticing his stunned expression. “Four siblings makes for many a snowball fight.” 

“You’re good.” She had a better throwing arm than he did. Jon wondered how he could make use of it. “Have you ever practiced with throwing knives?”

“Would you be my teacher?”

“Yes.”

She beamed at him. “Then I would like that very much.” Her hand grabbed his so their fingers interlaced. “Shall we walk together?”

They did not return home before supper. 

*****

Sansa slipped into his solar. Jon was slumped over his desk with a quill in hand. He was grumbling again, she smiled to hear it.

“Fucking hell, how did you talk me into this?” He’d heard her enter but did not look up.

“You offered so gallantly, it would have been uncivil of me to refuse.” It was the accounts, she knew. Sansa had little liking for the task and Jon had offered. Tracking incomes and taxes, both coin and goods, made for a particularly dull activity. She did not miss it. The harvest feast was now less than a moon’s turn away and it took much of her time. Sansa meant for it to be a grand affair. Somehow, Jon had arranged it so he took on the most tedious of their duties so she could spend her efforts on what she enjoyed the most. 

Sansa hid her package away where he could not see it before taking her usual place by the hearth fire. She hummed quietly before picking up the latest sewing project. She rarely spent time in her own rooms, other than to sleep now. 

“What are you making?” She felt his hand comb through the strands of her hair. Sansa turned into his touch before he pressed his lips to her cheek. Kissing, touching of any sort really, had steadily increased between them since the night he first asked for a kiss. Their touches had started out hesitant, as if fearing rejection. Slowly though, slowly, their touches grew more confident and more tender. Jon demanded nothing from her, always waiting for a visible sign of her willingness. 

A full fortnight had passed since the day he took her to Blazewater Bay. Tonight, she’d decided, it was time for her to offer another sign.

She fingered the fine lambswool, the gray was the same as she so often wore. “The start of your new wardrobe. I stole some of your clothing yesterday to make a pattern.” He was a Stark, she did not want to see him in so much black.

“Thank you, Sansa.” 

“I have something else for you.” She put his new tunic away, no more work on it would be completed that evening. He would be leaving in a couple days to bring his friend to Winterfell. She would have some lonely evenings to finish them. 

“One of your lemon cakes?” His tone said he knew it was not. Sansa considered herself a generous person, but she would keep those to herself.

“No. Something better.” She stood to pick up his sword where it lay on the stone floor beside her and settled it on his lap. “This belongs to you.”

Jon’s fingers traced the wolf’s head but he made no move to pick it up. “It was for you,” he protested. “I wanted you to understand how I saw you. How I wanted us to be.” His voice was rough, but from vulnerability than any desire. 

The image of her father flickered in Sansa’s mind. She remembered the face he showed the world, it hid what lay below. Jon was not so different, she thought. Underneath his somber exterior was a man who felt very deeply. Experience taught him to hide it away, she knew, years spent with a family that was never his family and in a home that was never meant to be his home. Sansa intended for that to change. She stroked his cheek, mirroring what he’d done only a few minutes earlier. 

“That’s why I’m giving it back. Can I tell you a story?” She returned to her chair and breathed deep. Sansa had practiced many times over the past several days. Still, the telling would not be an easy thing.

“So early?” He thought she would leave. Jon made no protest though, nodding his head in acknowledgement. Each hand was pressed flat against a thigh, he was nervous.

“Once, long ago, there was a little girl who loved songs and stories. She dreamed of a husband who loved her and the family they would have together. She knew somewhere, very far away, was the man she was meant to marry. She ignored all those who told her life was not a song, in her heart she knew it was. Well, one day, the little girl learned she was to marry a golden prince. Except, her golden prince was a monster, cruel and hateful. The little girl despaired. Secretly, she feared never finding her true knight, but she did not give up. One day, she escaped her golden prince to a castle hidden away in the mountains.”

Jon gasped, realizing the identity of the little girl. Sansa had told him pieces of her past, but never so much, and never all at once. They were only memories now, not the future she hoped for. 

“There in the castle, a second man appeared. He pledged his love and made many great promises. Then, the man proved himself to be another type of monster, deceitful and manipulative. Again, the little girl despaired. She had nowhere to go and no family who cared for her. This time, she managed to defeat the monster, a man who was really a mockingbird. Victorious, the little girl returned to her home far to the north. There, she vowed to herself, she would never fall victim to another monster. She would make her own choices, and, safe behind her castle walls, no one could deceive or harm her. Then, one day, a man appeared.”

“Her third monster….” Jon’s voice was strained and so quiet she wondered if he ever meant to speak at all. 

Sansa did not respond to him, she needed to finish. “This man was a dark prince where her first was golden. She was presented to him as a gift, naked and in chains. He covered her with his cloak and then he took her home and forced her to marry him. The little girl, helpless, did all he asked of her, but inwardly, she raged at the injustice of it. Despair returned to her, because she knew her secret dreams were forever lost to her. Except, the little girl realized the dark prince was quiet while the golden one was boastful. The dark prince was kind while the golden was cruel.” 

“Was he the third monster?” Jon’s lips were pulled into a deep frown, his expression could only be called misery. 

She wanted to end her tale to give him some comfort but she did nothing. Sansa knew she would never gather the courage to share this story again. “The dark prince showed love while the golden one only showed anger. Still, the little girl told herself, she would never be loved, not by him or anyone else. So, she hardened her heart against him. After all, how could she love a man who did what he did? Finally, the day came, where the little girl could no longer deny the truth. She’d come to love her dark prince.” She had no more tale to tell. 

“What happens next?” 

Sansa focused on her hands, folded neatly together in her lap. She refused to so much as glance at Jon, afraid of what she might see. “Not all stories have endings. I don’t know what happened next.” The fire popped loudly and she jumped. Jon stood. Sansa closed her eyes to hide away, letting herself indulge in the child’s fancy. “I’ve grown tired,” she lied. “I’d like to retire.”

“You have a habit of running away from me, do you know that?” He waited for an answer but she did not give him one. “If you stay, can I tell you how the story ends?” 

“I would like that,” she murmured, still refusing to look at him. 

“Will you open your eyes?” She shook her head no but did as he asked. Jon was on his knees in front of her. Sansa could no longer recall why she thought his demeanor cold. “The dark prince was enchanted with his northern princess from the very first moment he saw her. Then, a day came when he knew he loved her deeply, but he despaired. After all, how could she ever love a man who did what he did? So, he got on his knees to beg her forgiveness and vowed to be a good husband for all the rest of his days.”

She grinned, feeling somehow vindicated and a lovestruck fool. Not all stories were lies. “What happens next?”

Jon blinked rapidly, not sure of his answer. “I think he asks to kiss her.”

Sansa kissed him first. Very briefly, Jon did not react and then she felt his grin against her. His lips moved and their kiss deepened. She could taste the ale he’d come to enjoy and feel the warmth of his breath. This kiss was loving. It was excitement and hope, together. 

Jon grabbed her waist, pulling her to the edge of the chair so he rested between her legs. One hand rested on her knee before he broke their kiss. “I have something to confess,” he whispered. It seemed to her as if he was forcing the words out.

“Have you committed a horrible treason?” She kept her tone easy. Sansa wanted to enjoy this night. 

Jon’s eyes roamed down her body, across her chest and lower, before he met her blue ones. “That day, the day we met, I ordered my men to look away.” She remembered that. Everyone who’d seen her was now gone from Winterfell or chained in their dungeon. Jon had declared Lord Bolton’s existence was to be forgotten. Sansa tried to never think on any of it. “I saw you though….all of you. After, I tried to put it from my mind but I couldn’t. There are times when I’d think on it and the memory would rouse me,” he finished guiltily. 

She didn’t give herself time to think. “Then rouse me,” she said. He was flummoxed, mouth opening before closing. Sansa explained further, “Take off your clothes, it’s only fair.” At least, she decided it was. Jon jumped up before tearing his clothes off so quickly she feared he would rip the seams. Sansa giggled at the sight. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Jon protested, noticing her actions.

“Yes, I do.” She continued with the ties of her gown, determined. “Will you help me?”

He grabbed her arms, stopping her. “No, you don’t. Sansa, I removed my clothes because it’s fair, like you said, not because I have some expectation.”

Sansa grazed the hair low on his stomach, curious. He drew away imperceptibly. Jon was ticklish, the knowledge thrilled her. “What do you want?” She could feel her courage seeping away.

Jon turned solemn. “You,” he said huskily. It sounded ripped from his throat, as if he didn’t want to admit it. Remorse, she knew, for what had come before. 

“And I want you.” Sansa would not say anything else. Courage could only take her so far. 

“I….want you….so much…” he stammered. “I promised myself that I’d never so much as mention it. I wanted you to know how much you mattered to me first, that I cared about you for you and how sorry I am.”

Jon was speaking so quickly, she could scare keep up. “If we want each other so much, then why are we standing here with you in your name day suit?” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted “Turn around.” She did. Jon made quick work of her ties until she stood before him. A burst of shyness fell over her but Sansa refused to acknowledge it. “Prepare yourself,” he warned.

Sansa shrieked happily as she found herself being lifted off the ground and into her arms. He carried her into his bedchamber where she landed on his bed with a sharp “oomph”. 

Jon appeared above her, grinning happily. She stroked along his jawline. He seemed younger to her somehow, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. “Sorry, I forget how ridiculously strong I am.”

“Ridiculously impressed with yourself, more like,” she corrected.

“That too.” He kissed her, leisurely and unhurried. He pulled away just enough to whisper, “I could spend all night kissing you.” Jon kissed her again, seemingly determined to do just that.

Sansa wrapped one leg over his before her fingers roamed down his back and up his side. She felt him shiver but his kiss did not stop. She encircled his neck, wanting to pull him closer. “Not all night.”

He drew himself up so he rested on his knees between her legs. Jon stroked her stomach and down her left thigh. “Are you certain? We don’t need to do anything.”

She studied his body. There was a jagged scar on one hip that she itched to stroke. His manhood jutted out in front of him, surrounded by a nest of black curls. Sansa touched it, curious. Jon hissed but made no move to pull away. “I think we’re both certain,” she answered. Sansa did not feel any shyness or embarrassment with him. It was the opposite, she felt oddly bold. 

Jon’s gray eyes seemed completely black. He licked his lips. His hands roamed over her stomach until they settled on her breasts. He squeezed one nipple before smiling at her surprised squeak. “Sorry.” He suckled hungrily at both her breasts, his hands grazing over her thighs and down her side to her hips. “Spread your legs for me.” 

She did so, curious. Sansa lifted herself up, so her arms supported her weight. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Jon dove between her legs, there was no other way she could describe it. “Have you ever had a man’s mouth on you before?”

That was a silly question. “Of course, we’ve kissed many times.”

“So, no.” 

“What does that- oh….oh...oh.” Sansa arched her back as she fell onto the bed. She pulled at his scalp and drew up her legs. Jon wrapped his arms around her thighs. 

“It means putting my mouth on your cunt,” he mumbled against her. Jon’s tongue was warm and soft as it wrenched cries from her body. “Relax, Sansa, let it happen.” 

She wanted to ask what would happen but then she knew. She felt tension coil low in her belly, so tight it seemed almost painful. Sansa began to buck against his mouth as she closed her eyes. White light flashed in front of her as she cried out his name. 

Jon pressed several kisses to her center and her thighs, sweet and gentle kisses, before he appeared above her. His lips were shining. Sansa reached up to them, curious. “I’ll do that again for you, if you want.”

She did want. “Jon…” Sansa didn’t know what to say so she cupped his cheeks to pull him down. She could taste herself on his lips. 

Sansa could feel his hand between her legs and then he entered her. She tensed, feeling suddenly nervous.

“We will go slow.” He pressed an unhurried kiss to her lips. “Only as much as you want.” 

“I want.” She spread her legs further.

He was inside her. Sansa felt a pinch but it was not so bad. Jon stroked her hair, pulling it away. Their faces were so close, their noses touched “I love you.” He began to move but only the barest amount. “I’ve wanted to tell you for some time.” 

Sansa moved in an effort to imitate him. “I love you too.”

Jon pulled away but she could still feel the tip of him inside of her. “Like this.” He bent the knee of one of her legs before pulling the other over his hip. “Much better.” 

He moved quickly, entering her to the hilt. A sigh escaped her. “Do that again.” He did, repeating it twice more. The third, Jon entered her with enough force they both moved up the bed. Sansa cupped his hips in an effort to pull him even closer to her body. Their bodies moved in rhythm together. 

Jon began to deliver open-mouthed kisses along her neck and down to her clavicle. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She nodded her head. “For what?”

His pace increased, his thrusts more forceful. Jon’s chest grazed her nipples as he moved against her. “For that.”

“Oh, gods,” she cried out.

Jon grunted in answer. He moved above her slightly and the angle changed so he she could feel him even deeper. His thrusts grew urgent and she heard the wet slaps of their skin against each other. “You feel so good.” He panted roughly and started to pound into her. 

Sansa felt his finger gently stroke against her center and the earlier pressure was back. She mewled against him, desperate. And then Sansa felt as if she could weep for joy. 

Jon’s rhythm broke and and his thrusts grew erratic against her before he roared, pressing her into the bed below. Finally, he grunted one last time and stilled. The room was quiet other than the sound of their ragged breath and Sansa’s beating heart. 

She feels both content and sated, and loved. Very, very loved. 

“Do you hurt?” Jon rested on her chest, using her breasts as a pillow. 

“No.” There was maybe some stinging but she didn’t want him to know that. 

“In the stories, once a couple declares their love, they decide to always share a bed. Did you know that?”

She chuckled. ‘“Stories don’t lie.”

*****

_ Later… _

Sansa cuddled against her husband, slowly drifting off to sleep. She was tired very often of late.

“Tell me a story.”

Jon’s voice pulled her awake. She grumbled some but gave in. “Once, there was a horrible husband. He was dull and not very funny. One night, he kept his wife awake….”

“That’s a very bad story.” His laugh made her body shake though. “Let me tell one. Once, there was a husband whose wife was very wise.”

Sansa kept her lids shut, enjoying the intimacy between them. “I like this story. Why was she wise?”

“Because she married her husband. Try and keep up.”

She snorted. “I changed my mind. Horrible story.”

Sansa felt Jon move above her. He pulled the blankets down so her stomach was bare. “This one will be born in winter,” he said, stroked lightly. Her belly was just starting to swell.

“Don’t tell Arya. She won’t like that.” There were days Sansa would swear their daughter had the soul of the sister she missed so dearly. 

“We can distract her with one of your stories.”

“What will you do when I run out of stories?”

Jon leaned down to kiss her belly before looking up at her. His expression nearly stole her breath away. “I’ll ask you to start again from the beginning.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering...this series is done. I'm updating my oregon trail fic next and will probably do a round of all my multi-chapter fics after.


End file.
